


Audible Asphyxia

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: "It's almost infuriating, the level of confidence he has, especially when he's fucking himself on three fingers and stroking over the weight of his hardness. He shouldn't sound so calm, shouldn't have such innate competence." Imayoshi has to take a short trip for work and all you have to lessen the gap between you is a phone and the sound of his voice.
Relationships: Imayoshi Shouichi/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	Audible Asphyxia

The weekend comes, and as much as you're dreading it, Imayoshi still goes.

You know that he'll think of you when he's gone and that he'll miss the heat of your body next to his, the sound of your voice, and the comfort that comes with being in each other's company. It's not enough, but you suppose it's better than nothing.

You watch him walk to a black corvette behind the glass windows that frame your home's entrance, your palm pressed against the wall for stability. Imayoshi slides into the passenger seat, meeting your gaze and smiling before he gradually vanishes from your sight.

It's not _nearly_ enough.

* * *

When your phone rings your heart shakes with the vibration of it. It takes you two attempts to answer the call, and when you finally do, your fingers are trembling in excitement.

You talk about the simple things—get the intricate details of his arrival out of the way first.

Imayoshi complains about the room's temperature and the smell of nicotine that's burned into the plush carpet and silk drapery. You can hear him open a beverage, can hear the sound of liquid sliding down his throat, which only makes you long for the caress of his lips against your skin. He asks if you're paying attention before finding satisfaction in the fully stocked mini-bar, to which he says, “Have you ever had gourmet beef jerky? Oh, and there's this,” –there's the sound of shifting items coming through the phone– “organic black truffle and white cheddar popcorn. Sounds interesting.”

You talk for a while, but it only makes you miss him more. He tells you that he'll call you later when he's settled in and has more time to talk. You nod, forgetting that he can't see you, then wish him good luck when it's useless really. You end the call and drop the phone by your side, then decide on take-out for dinner.

You end up ordering for two and sticking the leftovers in the fridge.

* * *

It's not the first time you've had phone sex, and Imayoshi has never failed to make you come so hard you feel it into the next day.

You readjust the phone, listening to Imayoshi's breath hitch close to your ear. Your palms are sweaty, hands slick and shaky as you work yourself down on a vibrator. You close your eyes and let sensation take the place of loss. You know that it's only a matter of time before Imayoshi comes home—before you have something solid and real and warm. It imbues you with something that spells relief and slips through your veins like smoke.

“You sound so fucking hot,” Imayoshi almost purrs, the sound low in the dark of his throat. “Take it deeper, baby. I want you to fuck yourself nice and slow for me.”

You whimper as a steady pulse thrums through your sex and your clit is manipulated by silicone assistance. “Oh...Shou, I'm... _oh fuck_ ,” you stammer, breath coming in short pants and legs shaking with strain.

Imayoshi groans, audible pleasure dragging raw noises up the back of his throat to pour into your ear. “Does that feel good? Tell me. I want to hear you.”

You lick your lips as you arch your hips, wrist bending to drive the toy a little deeper. “Yes,” you whisper, sounding more reptilian than human. “I'm so wet. Everything is so slippery and hot.” You know that Imayoshi can hear the low hum of the vibrator through the phone, which only adds to the glistening arousal coating your skin.

Imayoshi hums a note of approval before speaking. “I wish we were doing this together, face-to-face,” he admits. “I want to kiss every inch of your skin—trail my lips from the curve of your shoulder down to the inside of your thigh. I want to touch you, to spread you open, and slip my fingers inside of your wet cunt. I want to bury my face between your thighs, drink you until you're shaking and there's nothing left on your lips but my name.”

“Fuck...yes. _Please_ ,” you manage, voice straining from too-much effort. You let your knees fall open, heels digging into your shared bed as you grind against the object buried deep inside of you.

“I reckon you're dripping, baby—stripped bare, legs stretched as wide as your pretty pussy when you fuck yourself for me. Or perhaps you're in one of my shirts, teasing your nipples through the fabric sticking to the sweat on your skin. I like it when you wear my clothes. You look so good in them,” Imayoshi says, the words scraping raw as if his vocal cords are being plucked by invisible fingers. “I want to fuck you so bad that I can't even find the right words to convey my desire. I want to slide my cock into your cunt, fill you up and fuck you until the sheets are drenched with sweat and spit and come.” Imayoshi groans and exhales in cadence, the sound distorted by the static distance between you.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, fighting the urge to respond because you know that no good ever comes out of trying to form words during times like this. You can picture your dark-haired fox, sprawled out on brushed linen, rumpled and beautiful, his fingers wrapped around his cock as he strokes himself idly. You nearly choke on the mental image of him, your acuity sliced by the urgency of an impending orgasm, now tugging at the corners of your control.

“You're being selfish again, ____. I know how much you like to use those lips when we're together. Are you so close to the edge that you can't give me a little inspiration?” He pauses to exhale a hitch of breath and a shaky moan. Then: “It seems as though you're coming faster these days,” he teases.

“Shut up, S-Shou,” you stammer, a high-pitched note skipping over the boundaries of your teeth. “It's hard to focus when–”

“When you have a vibrator buried deep inside of you? When your cunt is pulsing with need and so wet that you have to fight to keep it from slipping out of you? When you're so close to being fucked boneless that the thought of my fingers moving in you, sliding deep then back out again is too much to bear? Come on, love. I have to be... _oh, fuck, so close..._ I have to be right about _something_.”

And he knows he's right, you can hear the arrogance in his tone, even when he's clearly approaching the bright crescendo of his own undoing.

“When I get home I'll show you new ways to put that mouth to use. You have such pretty lips. I can almost feel them around my cock, spit-slick and swollen. You'd do that for me, wouldn't you? Let me slide my fingers through your hair, shove you to the floor, and slide my cock past your bitten lips? Would you let me fuck your mouth, ____? I reckon you would. I bet you'd even let me fuck your throat raw you if I so desired. Then I'd drag my heavy cock over your lips and paint your face with my emission, let it glide down your flushed cheeks and drip off your chin. I'd smear those pretty lips with my come, fill up the fine cracks that line them until the only thing you could taste is me.”

“You're disgusting,” you gasp, hips bucking in earnest, more out of habit than necessity.

“I've been called worse,” he says simply, and you can imagine his shoulders lifting in the barest hint of a shrug. “But you love it. You love when I talk to you like this. Do you want me to tell you what I'm doing right now? Though, maybe we should skip over the details. I don't know if you can handle them with how desperate you sound coming through the phone.”

You can picture the twisted curve of his lips, branding his mouth with dangerous intent—and you don't even need him to talk you into fucking yourself anymore, but you _need_ to know what he's doing. You _need_ to know that he wants you as badly as you want him.

“Tell me,” you rasp, shuddering as you slowly ease the vibrator out of your body. You whine at the loss but at this rate, you know that you're not going to last much longer. You sink two digits into your wet heat without pause and shift them in a way that doesn't come close to Imayoshi's ministrations. It makes you sigh in frustration but the sound is cut short, due in part to Imayoshi's low chuckle.

“You could be a bit nicer, ____,” Imayoshi says, knowing what the sound of your name on his lips does to you.

“Please,” you whine, stretching the word into a plea.

“That's better,” Imayoshi lilts. You can hear the rustle of sheets, the gentle shift of the phone, most likely resting on the center of his bare chest. “I'm a complete mess, ____. My fingers are slick with precome, wrapped around my cock and it's... _fuck..._ making for great friction. I'm on my back, my knees are bent and parted just enough to fit a hand between my legs.”

You swallow thickly, sure of where this is going, and it takes every shred of solemnity you have left to remain calm. “Are you–” you trail off as you drag your fingers over your clit, gasping before you can finish the rest of the question.

“Fucking myself? Well, it's not like I have much else here, do I?” is Imayoshi's reply. “I've managed to work myself up to three this time and Christ, the stretch feels so good. I'm not convinced I've ever been this wet before. It makes me want something _more_. As a matter of fact, I think I'll look into getting myself a toy tomorrow.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” you swear, shuddering so hard it reaches your bones. You slide your fingers out of your cunt and focus on the pulse thrumming through your clit. “You're so sexy, Shou.”

“Am I?” Imayoshi asks, but there's more interference on the line than there's incertitude in his voice. It's almost infuriating, the level of confidence he has, especially when he's fucking himself on three fingers and stroking over the weight of his hardness. He shouldn't sound so calm, shouldn't have such innate competence.

“I'm close, ____. My stomach is glistening from where I've smeared slick into my skin. I wish you were here to clean me up. Though, I reckon I'm about to get a lot dirtier,” Imayoshi says, chuckling.

“Are you really aiming for puns right now?” you manage, trying to catch your breath.

“Is it a play on words when I'm simply being honest?” Imayoshi questions, breathing heavily. “I'm—tell me what you're doing,” he demands, reaching a new level of urgency.

“I'm fingering my clit. I'm so close, Shou.” You grind against your palm, utilizing every sensation that brushes over your skin. You furl your toes and the curvature of your spine cuts into the air as you lift your hips in desperation.

“That's a good girl. Touch yourself for me. Pretend that I’m there, stretched out above you. Imagine that it's my hand between your thighs,” Imayoshi husks silkily before continuing. “I wish it was. I can feel your cunt around my fingers, hot and wet and gripping. I can taste you on my tongue; sweet like honey and sugar with a lingering trace of salt. I can smell you, your sex and skin, arousal, and perspiration. It's like you're here with me.”

You close your eyes just before you fall apart, a dry sob tearing past your lips as pleasure surges through your trembling frame like a violent storm. It shakes your limbs, pulls you into supine submission; it leaves you breathless and on the verge of tears.

You don't realize that you're whispering his name until he sparks electricity through the line. You can feel heat spread through your fingertips as he curses and moans throughout his climax. You try to picture him by your side, bathing in the afterglow of your mutual capitulation. His memory is an inch away: the weight of time dipping his side of the mattress, and the smell of his aftershave suffusing his pillows. It's almost enough to carry you, but then you can hear his heavy breathing and you're reminded that he's miles away because if he were home, you'd feel that breath against your ear or down the damp column of your throat.

“Tell me that you miss me,” you say, low and quiet, tone scratching just above a whisper.

“I miss you,” Imayoshi manages as he attempts to calm his breathing.

“A lot?” You roll over on to your side, burying your face in his pillows to shamelessly inhale in his scent.

“More than you know,” he confesses.

You issue a sigh of defeat and wish that there was something to pass the time or better yet, fast-forward right into the future.

“Don't worry,” Imayoshi starts, fighting a yawn that soon pours through the phone's speaker. “I'll be home before you know it. Then I'll make good on all those things I spoke of earlier.”

You moan and it sounds more like discontent than the intrigue you feel coursing through your bloodstream. “I just wish you were here, right now.”

“I know, baby,” Imayoshi says. “I'll make it up to you.”

“Promise?” you ask as you gradually begin to melt into the recesses of slumber.

“I promise,” Imayoshi affirms, and you can hear his smile through the phone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
